To Pleasure a Duke by Sara Bennett Read Free Book Online Page B

you ever done anything wild and dangerous and—and reckless, Your Grace?”
    “Can’t say I have, Miss Belmont.”
    She sighed. He found himself wondering what she was thinking. She seemed disappointed in him, as if he’d failed her in some way. Sinclair didn’t want to be a disappointment.
    “When I was a young boy, I considered being a tinker the most exciting life I could imagine. Wandering free through the countryside, sleeping under the trees and cooking rabbits over a campfire. No parents to insist I do my lessons or sit up straight at the table, no one to remind me of the heavy burden coming to me when I became duke. But when I began tying Cook’s pots and pans about my person and affecting a tinker’s accent my mother put a stop to my ambitions.”
    She smiled, and he felt pleased, as if she was rewarding him for effort. “I remember that tinker. He had long dark hair and a gold earring.”
    “I think it was the earring that I wanted most of all.”
    “I should think, now you are duke, you could wear an earring and no one would dare to comment upon it. They may think you eccentric, but the rich are allowed their eccentricities. Nice try, Your Grace, but I do not think I would consider that reckless behavior, not in your case.”
    Sinclair watched as she set down her teacup. What did she consider reckless behavior then? When she rose to her feet he felt his own stab of disappointment. “I’d better find my brothers before they wear out your staff.”
    He opened the French doors onto the terrace and she paused to admire the potted orange trees in flower, enveloped in their sweet, heady scent. The sunlight caught the red tints in her hair, where the curls were evading the confines of her straw bonnet.
    She was no classic beauty.
    Nevertheless there was something very fetching about her, something that drew him and made him want to . . . well, to kiss her.
    A pulse began beating in his throat as she turned to smile at him, and he wondered what would happen if he did kiss her. Here. Now. Would that be wild and dangerous enough for her? Could he do it? Did he dare?
    He leaned closer and she gazed back at him, her lips slightly apart, her pupils enormous and dark. Her scent came to him, an undertone to the orange blossom, sweet and fresh and womanly.
    “Eugenie . . .”
    But just before he took her into his arms, a familiar voice drifted toward them. Sinclair straightened up. Across the lawn and under a tree was his sister, seated on a swing, and pushing her rather too vigorously was Eugenie’s appalling brother.
    Sinclair leaped off the terrace and began to stride toward them with ominous speed.
    Eugenie hurried behind, skirts held up above her shoes and stockings, more curls tumbling from beneath her straw bonnet.
    “Whatever is the matter, Your—Your Grace?” she called, her voice fading as he outstripped her.
    “Annabelle?” he said in his most glacial tone. “Where is Miss Gamboni?”
    His sister stopped swinging and looked at him, her beautiful face mutinous. “I wanted some air, brother. Do I need a chaperone for that? Surely you would not begrudge me some air? There will be little enough to be had in London once I am residing there.”
    Sinclair eyed Terry with displeasure. “I see you have met Mr. Belmont.”
    “Mr. Belmont was kind enough to accompany me for a stroll around the garden,” she replied primly, but with a sly sideways glance at her companion.
    Eugenie arrived, breathlessly trying to straighten her bonnet. “Terry, I think we must go now,” she said anxiously, reaching for his arm.
    As if, Sinclair thought with surprise, she was drawing him away from danger. Was he the danger? Did she think he was going to punch her brother in the nose? He might deserve it, certainly, for inveigling himself into Annabelle’s company, but Sinclair knew he was far above such petty behavior. Still, he took a moment to calm himself.
    “Let me introduce Miss Eugenie Belmont,” he said in a